“There now, it’s done, Grandpapa, dear,” said Phronsie, tucking the bit of paper under the old door.
And down to the “Scrannage house” they went. There it stood, by the lilac-bushes, with its flag walk between the rows of ancient box; its blue-green blinds, and its big-knockered door—just as it had stood in the old squire’s time, with a mortgage on it.
The whole procession drew up silently. “You all sit still,” commanded the old gentleman. “Phronsie, you come with me.” So, Ben hopping into the dog-cart again to hold the bay, the two passed up between the rows of box, and halted at the blue-green door.
“Now, Phronsie, I want you to help me,” said Grandpapa, “because that Miss Sally Scrannage is truly awful to deal with. But whether she likes it or not, child, I’m going to lift that mortgage.”
“O Grandpapa, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Phronsie, the sunlight all in her eyes.
“So,” said the old gentleman, “get behind the lilac-bush here, child;” and he took out a paper from his pocket-book that proved to be a check, filled it out, and handed it to Phronsie. “Now stick it under the door, Phronsie; the crack’s big enough. And when they get home, and find it, and that Miss Sally comes for me, I can tell her you did it.”
“I will do it, Grandpapa,” said Phronsie, running off happily, to tuck the bit of paper under the old door. “There, now, it’s done, Grandpapa dear. And I am so glad.”
“And now let us get in, and drive off like hot shot,” exclaimed the old gentleman, hurrying down the path. “I really feel as if I heard Miss Sally after us now.”